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Catfights in Kimonos:
Memoirs of a Geisha
12-16-05 "Knight Thoughts" web exclusive
by Richard Knight, Jr.
Memoirs of a Geisha
12-16-05 "Knight Thoughts" web exclusive
by Richard Knight, Jr.
Do NOT kimono my house: Rob Marshall's follow-up to Chicago is an elegant Japanese bitch fest not
unlike All About Eve
unlike All About Eve
Every so often a book grips the imagination of the masses and morphs from bestseller status into trend setting phenomenon. Long
before the “Harry Potter” books tapped into the tween audience, this realm belonged almost exclusively to “epic” novels written for
adults. “Gone With The Wind” is perhaps the most famous – though “Peyton Place,” “Valley of the Dolls,” and “Jonathan Livingston
Seagull” also started a few trends of their own. Sometimes, non-fiction fever also sweeps the nation: “Midnight in the Garden of
Good and Evil” was one such example. Inevitably, these books end up as big budgeted Hollywood spectaculars that the public has
eagerly awaited. The creative track record for these publishing mega sellers turned mega movies is inconclusive – some work, some
don’t. All these properties offer film companies a modicum of insurance with their built-in audiences – just one reason why they’re
so popular with producers. What they all have in common is the millions of readers eager to experience a cinematic, realized
version of what they’ve imagined on the page.
Sometimes Hollywood gets it right (The Lord of the Rings trilogy), sometimes not (“Midnight in the Garden”). The failures often
happen when the source material, full of possibilities when kept in the realm of the imagination, is revealed to be flawed when
transferred to the screen. The camera doesn’t lie and it doesn’t leave much room for error either. “Memoirs of a Geisha” was one of
those books that the reading public ate up, popular enough for Madonna to commidify the geisha trappings by donning a kimono
onstage and in video and it certainly was a fascinating read. But on screen, the intimate, claustrophobic story of Sayuri the geisha, a
life defined by “agony and beauty” is revealed under the obi sash to be a typical rags to riches story that is equal parts All About Eve,
Showgirls, and any number of those female biopics – from Coal Miner’s Daughter to Lady Sings the Blues.
This is not to say that gay director Rob Marshall, following his artistic, Best Picture Oscar triumph of Chicago, doesn’t do his earnest
best with the material. Or that the breathtakingly beautiful trio of Ziyi Zhang as Sayuri, Michelle Yeoh as Mameha, her mentor and
sponsor, and Li Gong as Hatsumomo, their bitchy rival ever descend to the level of camp as they enact the story of competing
geishas. And though the form isn’t far from The Balcony, Walk on the Wild Side or any number of other films centered on a house of ill
repute, Geisha is much too refined, too exquisitely crafted (from its cinematography to the achingly gorgeous John Williams music
played by Itzhak Perlman and YoYo Ma) to hover anywhere close to parody. Only in Sayuri’s big “number” – reminiscent of that
Jennifer Beals artsy, Kabuki, 1980s style number in Flashdance – does it veer toward Neely O’Hara-Nomi Malone-land.
But for all the refinement and care put into the look of the film, the intermittently interesting story is finally oddly uninvolving – a
flaw of the book revealed in its screen edition. And even though the house “mother” insists that “It’s not flesh we’re selling here –
this is a Geisha house” you realize with a start that what you’re rooting for is for the main character’s ability to become a world class
prostitute. This is confirmed with the sequence in which Mameha accepts bids from the men for the honor of taking Sayuri’s virginity
and clucks with pride over the gigantic price paid for it. I’m certainly not adverse to rooting for call girls who make good and far from
prudish – but couldn’t one of these ladies get at least a smidgen of enjoyment out of her chosen profession? And what about that
venerated profession anyway? We're vividly shown that Sayuri can "devastate" a man with a glance but only get to see her plying
her carefully honed skills on the gentlemen in tiny moments here and there once she becomes a "legend."
Memoirs of a Geisha is really nothing more than a big budget chick flick – and I happen to love chick flicks. But, heretical as it may
sound, I think it could have used a little more Mahogany and a little less, well, Memoirs of a Geisha.
before the “Harry Potter” books tapped into the tween audience, this realm belonged almost exclusively to “epic” novels written for
adults. “Gone With The Wind” is perhaps the most famous – though “Peyton Place,” “Valley of the Dolls,” and “Jonathan Livingston
Seagull” also started a few trends of their own. Sometimes, non-fiction fever also sweeps the nation: “Midnight in the Garden of
Good and Evil” was one such example. Inevitably, these books end up as big budgeted Hollywood spectaculars that the public has
eagerly awaited. The creative track record for these publishing mega sellers turned mega movies is inconclusive – some work, some
don’t. All these properties offer film companies a modicum of insurance with their built-in audiences – just one reason why they’re
so popular with producers. What they all have in common is the millions of readers eager to experience a cinematic, realized
version of what they’ve imagined on the page.
Sometimes Hollywood gets it right (The Lord of the Rings trilogy), sometimes not (“Midnight in the Garden”). The failures often
happen when the source material, full of possibilities when kept in the realm of the imagination, is revealed to be flawed when
transferred to the screen. The camera doesn’t lie and it doesn’t leave much room for error either. “Memoirs of a Geisha” was one of
those books that the reading public ate up, popular enough for Madonna to commidify the geisha trappings by donning a kimono
onstage and in video and it certainly was a fascinating read. But on screen, the intimate, claustrophobic story of Sayuri the geisha, a
life defined by “agony and beauty” is revealed under the obi sash to be a typical rags to riches story that is equal parts All About Eve,
Showgirls, and any number of those female biopics – from Coal Miner’s Daughter to Lady Sings the Blues.
This is not to say that gay director Rob Marshall, following his artistic, Best Picture Oscar triumph of Chicago, doesn’t do his earnest
best with the material. Or that the breathtakingly beautiful trio of Ziyi Zhang as Sayuri, Michelle Yeoh as Mameha, her mentor and
sponsor, and Li Gong as Hatsumomo, their bitchy rival ever descend to the level of camp as they enact the story of competing
geishas. And though the form isn’t far from The Balcony, Walk on the Wild Side or any number of other films centered on a house of ill
repute, Geisha is much too refined, too exquisitely crafted (from its cinematography to the achingly gorgeous John Williams music
played by Itzhak Perlman and YoYo Ma) to hover anywhere close to parody. Only in Sayuri’s big “number” – reminiscent of that
Jennifer Beals artsy, Kabuki, 1980s style number in Flashdance – does it veer toward Neely O’Hara-Nomi Malone-land.
But for all the refinement and care put into the look of the film, the intermittently interesting story is finally oddly uninvolving – a
flaw of the book revealed in its screen edition. And even though the house “mother” insists that “It’s not flesh we’re selling here –
this is a Geisha house” you realize with a start that what you’re rooting for is for the main character’s ability to become a world class
prostitute. This is confirmed with the sequence in which Mameha accepts bids from the men for the honor of taking Sayuri’s virginity
and clucks with pride over the gigantic price paid for it. I’m certainly not adverse to rooting for call girls who make good and far from
prudish – but couldn’t one of these ladies get at least a smidgen of enjoyment out of her chosen profession? And what about that
venerated profession anyway? We're vividly shown that Sayuri can "devastate" a man with a glance but only get to see her plying
her carefully honed skills on the gentlemen in tiny moments here and there once she becomes a "legend."
Memoirs of a Geisha is really nothing more than a big budget chick flick – and I happen to love chick flicks. But, heretical as it may
sound, I think it could have used a little more Mahogany and a little less, well, Memoirs of a Geisha.